Phoenix Rising (Book Two of The Icarus Trilogy) (41 page)

“Who gives a fuck about the common man?” Jasper asked, resorting to profanity for the first time in a decade.  “They shit, they fuck, they die.  I will provide their food and entertainment, I will supply the very things that sustain and enslave them, but don’t expect me to care about them or what they do with their useless lives!  I care nothing for the sheep.  I only care about the wolves,” Jasper shouted before setting his hand on the counter.  “Thus my attention to you, my young friend.  If you wish to speak to me about this…. 'revolution,’” Montgomery said, pausing before using the word, “then don’t speak to me about the common man.  They are not the ones who did this.”

Darren swallowed down air and breathed out without a sound.  He did his best not to pay attention to the scotch pooling at his feet or the glass reflecting light on the floor.  The young man put his hands in his suit pockets and stared at the old man, who was looking right back at him.

“Fine, Jasper,” Darren said, adopting his confidence once again.  This was no time to play into the old man’s antics.  Darren would just have to pretend that he, too, was a living god.  Jasper glared at the familiarity, but he didn’t interrupt his protégé.  “We won’t talk about the common man or their role in this.  So far they’re unimportant, anyway.  This is all about the outliers.  This is all about the people who believed fighting a planet-wide empire was a good idea.  This is about,” Darren said as he walked over to the liquor cabinet and lazily grabbed the decanter of brandy.  Jasper was glaring at him in fury with each action, but the young man merely ignored the old man and poured two glasses.  He slid one over to Jasper and took a hold of the other, bringing the glass to his lips and drinking the liquor.  Darren had to show that tradition held nothing for them now.  He lowered the glass and held it near his hips, propping up the glass against the palm of his hand.   “This is about the idealists.”

Darren waited for the old man to strike out.  He waited for his desperate gamble to play out in any other way than success, but after what seemed an eternity, Jasper picked up the other glass and let the warm liquor pass his lips.  He walked over to his desk and then sat down in his leather chair, which creaked under the frail, old man’s weight.

“Go on, Darren,” Jasper said, looking to the young man as an equal.  This was exactly what he had been training the young man for.  He needed someone to argue with him on the same level; he had wanted a man that could take his place and expand the old man’s vision of Babylon to even greater heights.  The head of the Trade Union looked at his young student and repressed the urge to smile.  He had taught the boy well.

“We have to accept a few ideas, of course,” Darren said as he walked to the desk and set his hands on the rich, dark wood.  He felt no need to sit and considered that his position would give his words more impact.  “We have to accept the fact that there is no surrender here.  These are men who consider themselves on a suicide mission, or at least one with little hope of survival.  We cannot tempt these men with riches or even freedom, as they are fighting for others,” Darren said, losing himself to his own thoughts.  “For the revolutionaries, anyway.  The slave soldiers will really just be looking for revenge or a quick way off the planet, but I see this as only a way to remove a few weeds.  It will be costly to replace them, but we don’t want anybody to think we would let a million slaves rise up and get away with their lives.”

“They must be made an example, I agree,” Jasper said, bringing his glass to his lips but not letting the liquid flow into his mouth.  He only wanted to smell the fumes of the liquor as he considered Darren’s words.  It was a sweet burn on the inside of his nostrils and allowed his mind to empty of anger and irrational thinking.

“Yes, but I don’t think we need to make an entire planet of martyrs.  There are some teams that were not liberated, I take it?” Darren asked the master puppeteer, who nodded in response.

“My police were not entirely ineffective, it seems.  There are seven teams which are currently still under control.  The Hammerheads, The Mastiffs, and, well, I can’t remember the rest,” the old man said before turning in his seat to look out the window once more.  He looked at the asteroid of war and sighed.  There was a time when everyone feared his secret police and officials.  This was all so blatant.  Darren merely grinned at the mention of the Hammerheads and knew how to factor them into his plan.

“Well, I figure we could keep these men in the dark.  Let them think that the games are still continuing, but in a different fashion.  We have some breathing room on quashing this little rebellion, and I know of a perfect way to show the limits of these revolutionaries,” Darren said with a smile.  Jasper turned back in his seat and raised an eyebrow at the young man on the other side of his desk.  Darren stood up straight and walked over to the window so that he could also look at Eris in the twilight sky.

“Get them to fight the soldiers we still control.  There’s no way to recover from the
War World
broadcast, but we can show the common man, excuse their inclusion in this, we can show them how weak this little rebellion is.  And, fortunately, I can think of a fantastic way to put this to an end,” Darren said before turning his head to look at the old man in his seat.  Jasper remained silent, waiting for the young man to finish his little speech.

“We’ll send the Hammerheads against the Crows.  With our Hero Program we have turned Jenkins into quite the hero, quite the figurehead.  If he were to be gunned down by ‘loyal’ Hammerheads, then this little resistance could end before it really starts.  You said it yourself that Roth, the Hammerhead, would be quite a match for Jenkins,” Darren concluded, letting the old man consider the plan.  He watched as Jasper’s mouth curled into a smile and the old man flicked his eyes back up at Darren’s face.

“While I appreciate the irony of the whole situation, I don’t see how this would have an effect on the idealists, as you described them,” he said before leaning back in his leather chair.  Darren laughed and looked back up at the war-torn asteroid.

“When you fight an idealist, you cannot attack their bodies.  You cannot kill or capture or torture them and expect them to give in.  When you fight an idealist, you have to go after what they hold important.  If they want the people to know that these soldiers deserve freedom and will fight for them, as well, we have to show them that these ruffians will fight among themselves.  When they want to hold up a hero, we only have to send our own.  When they are trying to show the world that it’s worth fighting for,” Darren said, but he was interrupted by the old man with the wicked smile on his face.

“We have to show them that it’s not.”

-

“I’m sorry, what?” Jenkins asked as he sat on the back of his resurrection cell.  The three people at his side had been kind enough to let him slip into a set of fatigues before launching into an explanation for this revolution, but the newly-resurrected soldier was still having a difficult time coming to terms with the situation.

“Look, there’s plenty of time to talk about this at the barracks, but that’s the gist of the thing,” Carver said, somewhat disappointed by the boy’s reaction.  He hadn’t considered that Jenkins would have no memories beyond his suicide just a month ago.  It was getting frustrating for the veteran.

“God, Carver,” Jenkins said as he lowered his head and sighed.  “I … committed suicide,” he started, hesitating on the use of “I,” as he was still convinced that it was another man who had died in his memories.  “But you think the best way to get me out of that line of thinking is to tell me that we’re fighting a revolution against the Trade Union?  If anything, suicide is more justifiable now,” the new clone said as he looked back up at his former mentor.  Jenkins was disoriented, but he knew that he was right on that subject, at the very least.

Charlotte Kane tried to keep quiet during the exchange.  She had never been able to convince Jenkins of anything during her brief experiences with the man; he had always been the one to console her.  The doctor knew that Carver would have a better chance at convincing the young soldier that life was worth living, but it already felt like a losing battle.  Charlotte hadn’t considered that they would bring back a man from the dead and he would want to go right back to oblivion.  It all seemed so obvious, now, but there was now a hollow space in her being.  She felt as if she had failed; that she had brought Ryan back for no reason.

“Kid, this is a different situation,” Carver said, shaking his head and crossing his arms.  “We do have a chance at this.  If enough people stand up,” he started, but he stopped speaking when Jenkins rose to his feet.  It was a slow, agonizing process and it looked like the young man was about to falter, but Jenkins steadied himself by putting his hand on the resurrection cell.

“Piss poor odds, old man.  That’s all I’m saying.  And I just don’t really know why you brought me back for this.  It’s not exactly like I’m all that useful.  You said they made another version of me, right?” Jenkins asked before looking around the room.  His gaze fell on Charlotte for a moment and he felt guilty when he saw the sorrow written on her face, but he turned his gaze quickly so that he couldn’t focus on it.  “If they made him a better soldier, then why didn’t you just keep him?” he asked while turning back to Carver.  He noticed Albert out of the corner of his eye, but didn’t expect anything from him.

“We did, though,” the oafish revolutionary said, forgetting tact as he so often did.  Carver turned his head so fast that Albert thought the old man would strike him, but nothing came of it.  Albert gulped in fear and turned his head back to Jenkins, who was looking at him in confusion.  “He’s… back at the barracks right now,” he said, the volume of his voice dropping off towards the end of the statement.  Ryan lifted his hand and pinched the bridge of his nose, slipping into an old habit once again.

“That’s…. wonderful,” he said before lifting his head and turning back to Carver.  “So why am I back, Carver?  What’s the point?” Jenkins asked as he set his hands on his hips.  Carver sighed and lifted himself off the wall.  He considered his words for a moment and breathed out deeply.

“You’re… propaganda, kid.  EFI is going to use you to show how bad the Commission really was and, at the same time, people are gonna recognize you and feel like you’re a hero.  Your clone really showed them what a real man was like on
War World
,” Carver said before reaching up and scratching the back of his neck.  It was an odd feeling as his gloves touched his bare skin.  The old Crow pursed his lips and lowered his hand to his side.  “That’s why they’re coming for us first; you’re a bit of a secret weapon.”

Jenkins couldn’t help but feel like he was sinking.  He sat back down on the bed of the resurrection cell and set his hands on his knees before taking a few deep breaths.  He contemplated how he had gone from nothingness to stardom with absolutely no effort.  All he had done was commit suicide and the world adored him.  He laughed softly before looking back at his old mentor.

“Betting on the wrong horse, old man.  Wrong fucking horse,” Jenkins said before looking at the floor.  He was about to laugh again before he was interrupted by the old man’s gruff voice.

“Look, kid, it doesn’t really matter.  That part of the plan’s not even going to happen unless we get off this rotten asteroid.  You can deal with it when it comes, but it looks like we might have to fight our way out of here.  We just need to focus on that and get back to the barracks.”

“And what, Carver?” Jenkins asked, interrupting the veteran once more.  He was about to launch into more criticism, but he was shaken out of his despair by the old man grabbing a hold of his shoulders and bringing him to his feet.

“Stop it, you ungrateful sack of shit!  You can piss and moan all you like, but we have to get back to the others right now.  You might have killed yourself, kid, but I know you can fire a gun, and right now I’m going to need you to man the fuck up and realize that you’re alive and now you have a chance at having a real life back on Earth.  Now, shut up and follow me,” Carver said, letting go of the soldier and storming back to the door.  He stopped there and glared at his young friend, feeling like maybe he was just wasting his time.  Jenkins looked up from his seat and sighed, but it seemed like Carver had finally gotten through to him.

“You have… a point, Carver,” he said before rising to his feet.  “Let’s go.  I’ll deal with it when it comes,” he mentioned as he started towards the door.  Albert, feeling like this was entirely too uncomfortable for him, turned on his heel and started to the entrance of the clinic.  Carver turned and headed after him and it seemed like Jenkins was right behind him, but the old man heard the young soldier pause in his steps.

“Actually, I’ll be right there, Carver,” Jenkins said.  Carver turned with anger in his eyes and was about to yell at the newborn soldier, but Ryan merely lifted his hand.  “Serious, I’ll be there soon.  Go on ahead.”  Carver stood for a moment, but then headed to the entrance of the clinic.  He had already wasted too much time on this suicidal soldier; there was nothing more to say.  If Jenkins was the man Carver hoped he could be, he would make his way to the barracks eventually. 

As Carver reached the entrance, he realized that Roberts was still alone with the sniveling scientist.  As much as Christopher deserved his revenge, Carver knew that he would be much more useful in the barracks with the other soldiers.  The old man turned and headed to the research wing of the clinic, knowing that he could walk in on a waking nightmare.

Meanwhile, Jenkins turned and looked at the good doctor, still sitting on the stool by the resurrection cell.  He walked over to the raven-haired woman and sat down on the bed of the cell.  He sniffed before setting his forearms on his thighs and interlacing his fingers.

“Aren’t you coming?” he asked with a lighter tone than the previous conversation.  He had noticed that Charlotte hadn’t moved once Carver had made his speech, and he thought that maybe the young woman might need some words of encouragement.  Ryan had always felt guilty about what this planet was doing to her and her conscience; she had always been so nice to him.  Charlotte looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes and sniffed.  He could tell that she had been crying at some point that day.